


Some Kind of Forever

by auri_mynonys



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: 'philosophical arguments give me a boner' said two mechs to each other, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Meetings, Fluff, Love at First Sight, M/M, Pre-Canon, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:28:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23290207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auri_mynonys/pseuds/auri_mynonys
Summary: A chance meeting in a bar near the Pits brings Orion Pax and Megatronus together.Slightly canon-divergent, fluffy af, with limited plot.
Relationships: Megatron/Optimus Prime, Megatron/Orion Pax
Comments: 48
Kudos: 402





	Some Kind of Forever

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO FRIENDS. I've had this sitting in my drafts for a hot minute, and I figured now might be a good time to clean it up and post it as we're all cooped up in our homes and stressed to hell and back.
> 
> Slightly canon-divergent in that Orion and Megatronus have an accidental meeting before Orion can write to him. Also, slight case of mistaken identity, because I love to put Orion in awkward situations, I guess.
> 
> Enjoy this incredibly fluffy fluff <3

**… and for one glorious moment, I beheld the light of the sun: gleaming like the face of Primus himself, warm, benevolent and all-knowing.**

**That moment was the last where I knew peace.**

**Dragged screaming and struggling beneath the earth, my overseers proclaimed this cruel, bright god had ordained a monstrous fate for me: that I ought never be granted his face again. That I was to live and die in darkness, forever spurned, denied the light of my Creator.**

**How can a creator make a mech, then cast him from his sight? He chose my shape, chose my alt-mode, granted me a clever mind. Why give me these things if he did not intend for me to use them? Why put the fire within me to be more, do more, if that was not as he desired?**

**I think with wonder sometimes of the mechs who walk the streets on bright days under the sun’s smiling face, not knowing their own fortune. Wonder, I say - but would it not, perhaps, be better to call it envy? I long to taste even a morsel of that freedom. It calls to me, to the very burning center of my spark.**

**Do you hear it, too, my brethren - the calling to be more than your station allots you?**

**Do you also hear that whisper, the voice that cries, ‘Rise up!’?**

_ \- Excerpted from ‘Transform and Rise Up’, from  Towards Peace: Transcribed Speeches from the Pits _

* * *

“Orion!”

Orion Pax lifted his helm, startled from his reading by the sound of his friend Starflux’s voice. He blinked owlishly at her, struggling to disentangle his thoughts from the words he’d been devouring only moments prior. “My apologies, Starflux. What is it?”

Starflux sighed, rolling her optics. Her brilliant yellow and white paint gleamed even in the dimness of the dingy bar where they’d made what their compatriot Flutter jokingly referred to as  _ base camp:  _ the place where they would park for the evening, enjoy a few drinks, and celebrity-watch.

Rather, Starflux and Flutter would celebrity-watch. Orion would be there as well, reading, drowning out the raucous shouts and party songs and pretending not to be on the edge of an anxiety meltdown all evening. 

He hadn’t wanted to join them for this excursion to Kaon in the first place. He’d tried to bow out by arguing a moral opposition to the Pits - a genuine feeling on his part, but also a bit of an excuse to avoid the massive crowds such fights entailed. “I won’t spend what little I have in discretionary income on bloodsport,” he’d told the femmes sternly; but Flutter had happily bought his ticket for him and dragged him along anyway, wearing a sly grin and winking as she pulled him, protesting, from his workstation. 

Somehow the duo had convinced him to join them at this bar post-match as well. “Gladiator-watching,” said Flutter with a bat of fine fiber lashes she’d installed for the occasion. “Like bird-watching, but hotter - and hopefully more productive.” 

“Dare I ask what the nature of said productivity might be?” Orion deadpanned. 

“Oh, you know,” said Starflux, coyly dancing around it. “Hoping for a snapshot or a recording. Maybe a signature.”

“ _ Or, _ ” said Flutter, ever the louder and more boisterous of the trio, “Maybe get fragged to the Pits and back. That’s the ideal outcome.”

Orion had issued every imaginable kind of protest - especially when Flutter suggested he could use a good clang himself - but here he was all the same. Still, as he’d repeated several times, he was simply along for the ride, until one or both of the femmes found themselves swept off to a whirlwind frag with a gladiator, or until they were too drunk to see themselves home. 

Flutter had left them a good thirty kliks prior to locate high-grade, and Orion had been reading ever since. Apparently Starflux had grown bored of their silence. She bounced in her seat, straining to see as fighter after fighter came in through the door, waving a frantic hand at Orion to capture his attention. “Orion, look, that’s Dreadcore right there,” she said, optics aglow with excitement. “You remember, she’s - ”

“Your favorite,” Orion said, smiling. He ached to return to the datapad in his servos, but he didn’t want to be rude. “Yes, I remember. The black and gold femme, is that correct?”

“Yes!” Starflux said. She pointed, and Orion followed the gesture to the doorway, watching as a few other gladiators strode in. “And there, behind her - that’s Trident! He’s been out of the ring for ages, it was  _ so  _ lucky that he was reintroduced tonight…”

“Mm.” Orion hummed noncommittally, casting a disinterested glance at the blue and green fighter who had just proudly lifted his hands to encourage more cheering. “Very exciting.”

“Ugh, you’re useless!” Starflux groaned, flopping back in her seat. “I need Flutter back.  _ She’d  _ be excited with me.”

Orion swallowed a guilty lump in his intake and lowered his datapad, marking his place with a quick tap. “I’m very pleased for you, Starflux,” he said. “Really, I am. I know how fond you are of Dreadcore. She… ah...” Orion searched for something useful to say. What did one usually tell a friend who was meeting a sports celebrity? “She… looks exactly like her pictures?”

Starflux smiled fondly at Orion and patted his hand, shaking her yellow helm. “Thanks for trying,” she said. “I know you didn’t want to be here anyway. You’re not overwhelmed, are you?”

Orion shrugged, pressing reassurance over the anxiety in his field. He didn’t want Starflux to cut off her night of fun just to accommodate his discomfort. He’d be fine, given enough time, even if he  _ was  _ overwhelmed by loud places and big crowds. “I’m very well,” he promised. “Though I’ll certainly feel better when Flutter brings back our - ”

“ _ Guys! _ ”

Orion and Starflux turned their helms in unison at the cry, Flutter’s voice echoing across the bar as the crowd around her parted. She was a tiny mech, a pink and light blue minibot who, despite her big personality, could never part a crowd like that on her own. Orion frowned, looking her over. Her left hand was empty, devoid of drinks, but her right -

With her right hand, she pulled along the biggest, most singularly attractive mech Orion had ever seen.

Orion drew in a sharp vent, fans stuttering as Flutter dragged the enormous fighter to their table, her tiny servo not even able to wrap around his wrist. He did his best not to gape at the gladiator, spark hammering against his chassis as the mech glanced in his direction.

_ Wow. Wow, wow, wow, wow - _

“Guys,” Flutter gasped, venting rapidly in excitement. “Look who I found!”

Orion stole another glance at the gladiator to see if he recognized the mech - only to find the fighter staring intently at him in turn. His eyes were the iciest blue Orion had ever seen, cold and sharp with suspicion and annoyance: a scowl curving thin dermas clearly more used to frowning than smiling. That stare swept over Orion’s frame, some of the coldness fading from his expression as his optics took on a more  _ appreciative  _ look.

Oh. The gladiator was  _ checking him out.  _ Orion blushed and shyly lowered his gaze - a gesture that earned him a purr from enormous engines, as if to say,  _ Aren’t you adorable? _

When Orion glanced at the fighter again, the mech had zeroed in on the datapad in Orion’s hand. Blue optics flicked over the title, and his expression shifted almost instantly: brows rising in surprise, then that burning stare fixing upon him with  _ intense  _ interest. 

The gladiator actually  _ did _ smile then - and Orion’s spark stuttered and skipped a rotation, frame flaring with hot-cold pins and needles beneath his plating.

_ Oh scrap. Oh scrap. He’s  _ **_gorgeous._ **

Starflux rose abruptly from her chair, field radiating shock and adoration. “M-Megatronus,” she whispered, hands pressed over her spark. “Oh  _ Primus  _ it’s really  _ you! _ ”

_ Megatronus _ . Hmm. Orion was certain he knew that name - outside of its obvious context as the designation of a Prime, that is. But he couldn’t think where he’d heard of this fighter before. He had never really bothered to read much about the Pits, and the only fighters he knew were the ones Starflux and Flutter told him about regularly. He was sure they’d never mentioned one named after the Fallen.

Starflux turned to Orion, leaning over the table to him. “Pax,” she said, low and urgent. “That’s - that’s  _ Megatronus _ \- you know him, don’t you?”

Orion politely arched both brows and offered her a helpless shrug.

“Vector Sigma, Orion,” she said, rolling her eyes. “He’s the  _ Champion of Kaon.  _ Literally undefeated over the span of thirteen stellar cycles! That’s the second-longest anyone has ever held the title.”

“Soon to be the longest, one hopes,” said Megatronus, wearing a smug, winning grin.

A shiver ran down Orion’s spinal strut at the throaty sound of the gladiator’s voice.  _ Primus. Maybe I  _ **_do_ ** _ need a good clang. I’m overheating just  _ **_looking_ ** _ at him.  _ In fairness, Megatronus was unbearably handsome: huge, barrel-chested, and gleaming in silver armor, crimson accents flashing at his throat, arms, and thighs. His ventral plating was broken by a series of red vents, and on his already-broad shoulders sat enormous spiked pauldrons that looked like they could single-handedly kill a mech if he turned too quickly. 

Yes, he could see how such a mech had survived the Pits so long. 

“Oh, I see,” Orion said. He lifted a hand, offering a bashful wave. “Hello. It’s an honor to meet you.”

Megatronus smiled, amusement playing in his face, as if he was laughing at some private joke. “Pleasure,” he said, offering Pax his clawed servo. After a moment of hesitation, Orion took it, venting sharply when Megatronus dragged him to his feet, pulled his hand close - and  _ kissed his knuckles.  _

“Orion, wasn’t it?” Megatronus purred, in a voice so husky Orion’s knee joints nearly gave out. 

Orion swallowed, his vocalizer clamping down on itself as his fans spun upward. “I - y-yes, that’s my designation. Sir. Ah?” 

“A lovely name for a lovely mech.” Megatronus let Orion’s hand fall, nerveless and prickling, to his side. The gladiator’s formidable attention was brought to bear on him and him alone, studying his face so keenly that Orion almost felt like he was being interrogated.

Orion was left speechless, blank processor desperately searching for something witty and charming to say. While he was far from an innocent in this regard, he had never before attracted the eye of a mech this handsome, this (apparently) famous. The advances Orion was used to were coy, teasing things: double entendres cloaked in casual compliments, the speculative arch of an optic ridge, a request for a comm line and an easy  _ chat later?  _ But everything about Megatronus was aggressive, forceful, direct - including his flirtation.

Orion rather liked it.

He reset his vocalizer - he had to do it twice before he could speak - and gestured to Starflux. “My friends, as you’ve no doubt gathered, are fans of yours,” he said. “They asked me to come with them tonight to see the match - ”

“Oh?” Megatronus didn’t turn his helm, not troubling himself to acknowledge either Starflux or Flutter. “Are you not a fan as well, Orion?”

Orion’s faceplate burned. How to tactfully admit that he loathed everything the Pits stood for without being offensive - and without ruining whatever it was Megatronus intended to offer him? “I… have moral objections to bloodsport,” he blurted.

Starflux groaned, and Flutter slapped his arm, hard. “He’s kidding,” Flutter said, glaring at Orion. “Tell him you’re kidding, Orion.”

“Unless I have misjudged your friend, I get the impression that Orion  _ kids  _ about very little,” Megatronus said dryly. He pursed his dermas, studying Pax with a cooler air. “And what, exactly, is this  _ moral objection  _ you purport to have? Indulge a curious participant in this so-called bloodsport you so loathe.”

Oh, Primus. Despite his best efforts, he’d only succeeded in upsetting the gladiator. Orion twisted his hands in front of him, wishing he could take back what he’d said; knowing that he would say it all over again even if he  _ could  _ take it back. 

“I despise violence of any kind,” Orion said. His voice trembled, but it held conviction, assured and certain on this topic. This was something on which he would not budge, regardless of how it might offend. “Especially where it takes advantage of the most oppressed in our society, as the Pits do. There is a quote from a work of which I’m fond - ‘ _ Think not of battle as a necessary glory; only egoists and warmongers believe it so. A society is not built on bloodshed, but on compacts and compromises, on community and kindness. Where communication ends, violence and cruelty begin.’” _

He didn’t expect Megatronus to know the work from which the comment had come. He was a gladiator, not a philosopher, after all. But Megatronus merely made a disdainful noise at the words, shaking his great helm. “Quoting Posthaste to defend a pacifist stance seems rather contradictory of your position, Orion,” he said. “Posthaste was a general, after all - one who populated his armies with low-caste mechs to curb what he once termed  _ ‘unnecessary casualties of our best and brightest’ _ . Damning words from a mech you seem to believe held some sort of moral opposition to the low castes’ plight. Regardless of his supposed feelings, he was a participant several times over in the very battle he so belittled and the oppression you proclaim to stand against, both before and after his writing of  _ Battles, Bloodshed, and the Art of Compromise. _ ”

Orion’s vents hitched, hard, optics brightening at once.  _ How…?  _ He  _ knew…  _ ? By the Primes. Orion’s spark spun hard inside his chest, dermas parting with an embarrassingly swoon-y sigh. “I - you’ve read Posthaste’s work?”

“Oh, I may be little more than a humble bloodsporter,” Megatronus drawled. “But I  _ do  _ know how to read.”

Oh no. Now Orion  _ really  _ had ruined this - whatever this was. Whatever hopeful little thing this spark between them was trying to be. His tanks flipped, dismay burning through his field as he raised both hands in hurried apology. “No, that - that’s not what I meant at  _ all _ ,” he rushed to say. “Forgive me if I gave that impression! Just - I’m an archivist, and even Iacon’s most illustrious philosophers often don’t know of Posthaste. You are the first mech I’ve spoken to who has recognized a quote from him.”

Megatronus’ expression cleared, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Ah. Forgive my assumption. It is more common than I would wish to think that gladiators possess no intellectual prowess.”

“I would  _ never  _ assume that.” Orion had the urge to take Megatronus’ hand - an absurd, idiotic urge, one he quashed by folding his own hands behind his back. He realized a second later he’d taken three steps closer, that Megatronus was now looming almost directly over him with that same strange, fascinated little smile… Oh, but it would be rude to step back, wouldn’t it? That would be offensive. Orion clutched his digits together tighter, his palms itching to  _ touch. _ “At any rate, I understand your point regarding Posthaste and his military career,” he said. “It certainly seems contrary to the ideals he preached about in his work. But he soon learned the error of his thinking, as he himself indicates in his first book. It’s what inspired him to turn to philosophy and ethics in the first place. After, when he took up arms a second time, he did so only because he was forced to, to protect that which he loved: his family, his home, Cybertron itself.”

Megatronus’ stare was so intense as to be almost physical, as if his servos were running over Orion’s frame.  _ “‘Those who pass a peaceful recharge in their own berths every night do so on the graying, rusted frames of others who died to make it so.’” _

Orion’s spark caught and skipped yet  _ again,  _ damn him. “Oh,” he whispered, wide-opticed. “Pillage,  _ On the Necessity of Violence. _ ”

Megatronus inclined his head in agreement. “Indeed. You have a good memory.”

Orion reset his vocalizer, trying to calm his quaking nerves. What was  _ wrong  _ with him? His circuits felt like they were on fire, his lines throbbing with an unfamiliar heat. A heat that was focused rather intensely behind his - “An interesting choice in refutation to my point,” he said, sharply cutting off that path of inquiry. “Is that directed at Posthaste, or at my feelings regarding the Pits themselves?”

“Both, frankly,” said Megatronus. He gestured, a sweep of one massive arm, digits unfurling elegantly. Orion followed the movement, transfixed. “The imagery applies to both your arguments.”

Orion frowned. “What is it you believe the fighters of the Pits are defending the rest of Cybertron from?”

Megatronus’ optics lit up, shining icy, crystal blue. “Is it not obvious, Orion?” he said. Primus, the way he said Orion’s name, like a hum and a purr, like the soft rasp of cool metal against a whetstone… “Certainly  _ you  _ of all mechs must have made this leap already - or, if not, I trust you possess the capacity to do so. The Pits exist to quell the unrest of the lowest castes, to feed them blood instead of sustenance, violence instead of basic decency. That way the rest of Cybertron - the high castes and elites - can soothe themselves into believing that their status as the elite is  _ earned;  _ that we who fight and dirty our hands are but monstrous savages built to murder and destroy. Their peace and self-assurance are built upon the rusted frames of my kindred in Kaon’s scrapyards.”

Oh. Phrased that way, Orion could understand exactly what Megatronus meant. “I… actually don’t disagree with the point you’re making,” he said. “I do feel that the Pits exist for precisely that reason, and that the mere fact of their existence is a failure on the part of our High Council. The caste system is itself abhorrent for similar reasons, as it creates and fosters such inequalities.”

“Quite.” Those eyes _ \- sweet Solus Prime -  _ were locked upon him, unblinking and burning with a fire Orion might have quavered under in other circumstances. “And yet, despite your lofty words on the subject, you speak so disdainfully of gladiators like myself.”

“Disdainfully? No, never!” Orion said, shaking his head. “It isn’t the gladiators themselves I hold in contempt. It’s simply that I do not wish to support the inglorious death fighters are forced into by cheering in the stands while they perish. Wouldn’t you agree that that’s better - to stand aside and protest the existence of the Pits rather than to attend the battles there? By popularizing Pit fights and pouring shanix into matches, whether to support our gladiators or simply out of idle curiosity, we feed the very system we are attempting to dismantle.”

Megatronus’ frame sparked with charge, a rush of static pleasure shimmering through his tightly-reined field. He snatched up a chair, pushing Flutter from his side in the process, and spun it back to front: dropping into it so that his arms rested at its top and his legs were splayed on either side of its back. “And in what way does ignoring the gladiators who fight in the Pits serve them?” he asked. By the Primes, that  _ voice  _ was going to be the death of him. Orion’s legs trembled, barely visible, as that husky baritone rolled over him, pinging places in his processor he hadn’t previously been aware could hold charge like that. “You cannot affect change simply by pretending that which you abhor does not exist.”

“I didn’t suggest that ignoring them -  _ you  _ \- was the correct course,” Orion replied. His faceplates heated as Megatronus spread his legs just that tiny bit wider, displaying a perfect waist and thick, gorgeous thighs. 

_ I have never seen a mech I wanted so much, ever, in my functioning. _

Orion blushed and grabbed his seat, fumbling his way back into it. “But as I said, I do not wish to pour shanix into the machine that forces you to fight. I would rather speak to the fighters themselves, bring them aid, encourage them in pursuit of escape from harsh contracts, agitate for change at the highest courts - ”

“And how do you think that will end?” Megatronus said. He tilted his helm, chin resting on his folded arms. His optics were so  _ bright,  _ filled with an intelligence that Orion wouldn’t have expected at first glance. “Do you think petitions will change anything at all?”

“Why wouldn’t they?” Orion asked.

Megatronus chuckled, though not unkindly. “Aren’t you precious,” he rumbled. “Still believing in the system. I’ll tell you why: because the guilds have a vested interest in ensuring they  _ don’t.  _ Shanix or violence will win you the result you want: nothing more or less. Revolution must come, but it comes at the cost of many lives.”

Orion reset his vocalizer. “ _ The common notion is that a blow must be answered with another blow; but in the end this leads only to bruises and scars, and never to peace or to rest.” _

Megatronus rolled his optics. “Posthaste again,” he said. “I see you have a favorite. Then allow me to counter:  _ Cybertron has come to this lowly state through that most wretched of phrases, ‘compromise’: the compromising of our principles, the denial of Disposables’ basic rights, and the dissolution of the independent self.” _

Orion smiled. “From  _ Towards Peace, _ ” he said. “‘The Dignity of Being.’ You saw what I was reading.”

“I did.” Megatronus’ grin broadened, almost impish, as if he knew something Orion didn’t. “Impressive - you even remember the speech’s title! You must have liked it.”

“It is a singularly challenging collection,” Orion said, running his digits over the datapad. “It defies the very essence of most Cybertronian philosophy.”

Megatronus paused, considering him. There was something wary in his field now, a sharpness that took Orion by surprise. “I cannot tell if you mean that to be an insult or a compliment.”

“Oh, a compliment, decidedly!” said Orion. Megatronus’ pauldrons relaxed, tension Orion hadn’t noticed fleeing the gladiator’s frame. “It is unlike anything I have ever read. It challenges the reader - or the listener, I suppose, in its truest form - to  _ think:  _ to shake off rusty logic circuits and open archived ethical programming, re-examining the fundamentals of Cybertronian belief. I find it an exciting work, a relevant, important work - but then, I am told I’m stuffy and like to think too much. And this has certainly made me think.”

Megatronus’ smile was almost fond. His optics didn’t look so cold any longer: more like energon over heat coils, bright and pleased and proud. “High praise indeed from a scholar of your caliber,” he said. “It is unusual to encounter such openness in a mech of your caste. Your willingness to rethink your comfortable existence is quite rare.”

“One does not learn and grow and change by rejecting new ideas,” Orion said. He endeavored to hide his blush by looking away, knowing from the soft hum of Megatronus’ engines that he had failed. “In the earliest days of my archival work, I read every philosophical work I could get my servos on, but I’ve not found something new and interesting in centuries. One might expect that the University of Iacon would produce hundreds of fascinating new texts and theories, but regrettably it is not so. The same tired questions are posed again and again, with the same tired answers returned. Writing a philosophical article these days appears to be an exercise in literary self-service, really.”

Megatronus actually  _ laughed,  _ a sharp, throaty laugh that seemed to surprise him as much as it surprised Orion. “I’m inclined to agree,” he said, quieting a chuckle. “Though I’ve not heard it phrased so  _ colorfully _ before.”

Orion’s face burned with heat, circuits pinging. Oh,  _ slag,  _ that  _ really  _ wasn’t appropriate, was it? “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean - that is, I intended no offense - ” Orion rushed to say.

That same wonderful laugh bubbled out of the gladiator again, good humor in his field. “And I took none. You would have to say far worse to me to earn so much as a raised optic ridge.” Thankfully he did not linger on the subject, perhaps sensing Orion’s humiliation. “You’ve praised  _ Towards Peace  _ quite thoroughly, but said nothing of its author, I note.”

“Well, there isn’t an author as such,” Orion said, frowning. He’d expected Megatronus would know as much. “It’s a transcribed collection of speeches made here in Kaon - ”

Megatronus simply looked even more amused. “Said speeches were all given by the same mech, however, and he  _ did  _ write them, regardless of who transcribed them,” he replied. “I believe his designation is mentioned in the acknowledgements.”

“Oh, is it?” Orion brightened, clicking the datapad on to look. “I admit I was a bit disappointed not to see credit given to the speaker from the outset. I’d hoped to write to him about some of the questions he poses here - ”

Orion glanced through the acknowledgements. Froze, vocalizer clamping down the second he found the name.

_ All speeches transcribed herein were originally written and presented by the Champion of Kaon,  _ the acknowledgement read.  _ Leader of the Pits, Risen from the Mines: he who goes by the designation Megatronus. _

Orion’s helm snapped up, his optics flaring wide: as wide as they could cycle. “It’s you,” he breathed. “You’re  _ him _ \- !”

Megatronus’ smile broadened, delighted to have earned such breathless elation. “And here I was so hoping you’d come intending to visit me,” he said, pressing a hand to his spark in playful offense. “And yet when faced with me, you did not know me at all! You  _ wound  _ me, little archivist.”

Orion blushed again, hotter and harder, deeply embarrassed and  _ deeply  _ excited. “I - well - it isn’t as though there is an image of you anywhere within the text!” he spluttered.

Megatronus chuckled. “I might have known a bookworm would only know me by my words,” he said. “But how can I take offense? You have so readily indulged my taste for debate, which is a rare gift indeed.” The dip of his helm deepened, something ravenous in the upturned corners of his mouth. “Besides, you are terribly lovely when you blush.”

Orion made a choked sound, manually clamping down on his fans as they attempted to spin up even further. “I - I, oh - th-thank you?”

Megatronus’ gaze was unrepentantly smug. He wore his arrogance well; it suited him, like a fine cloak custom-made to fit him. “Well? You mentioned writing to me, and here I am,” he said. “What did you hope to discuss?”

Orion felt still another hideous blush crawl over his faceplate. “I - don’t think I could remember all the salient points without a reboot,” he admitted.

There it was again: that affectionate, wonderful look that made Orion’s spark skip. “Such a pity,” said Megatronus. “You were so flattering in your earlier remarks! My vanity hoped I might earn more praise from that clever glossa.”

It was Orion’s turn to laugh now, that subtle, self-deprecating jab easing all the shock out of his frame. “That is far simpler a task,” he said. “Your work is - well, frankly, the most exciting philosophical and ethical work I’ve seen in centuries.” Orion realized he’d leaned forward again, chair inched closer to Megatronus’: unconsciously reaching out to bathe in Megatronus’ field, to just be  _ near  _ him. Was it his imagination, or had Megatronus moved closer as well? “And that you gave these as  _ speeches  _ in a public square, in defiance of the authorities that surrounded and threatened you - I cannot overstate my admiration, Megatronus. Truly, I cannot. Your gift with words could move the spark of any mech.”

“Did it move yours?” Megatronus asked. There was new heat in that vocal inflection, soft and low and tinged with intent. A shiver ran down Orion’s spinal struts, pooling behind his panels like molten ore.

“Yes,” Orion whispered, the words catching in his vocalizer. “Yes, Primus, I - ”

Megatronus stood abruptly and offered Orion his hand. “Come,” he ordered, in a tone that brooked no refusal. “A bar is no place for two such philosophers to share a serious discussion. Allow me to take you somewhere more… private.”

Orion knew at once what Megatronus was really suggesting. His entire frame burned with shock and excitement, a heady combination of both what Megatronus’ frame was doing to him, what his brilliant verbal sparring had done, and the shock of finding that Megatronus had written the very work that was currently lighting Orion’s neural net aflame. 

He was already nodding, eager and elated, when he remembered his friends - his friends, both of whom had been far more excited to see Megatronus than him. His friends, who were standing somewhere behind Megatronus, completely ignored.

His friends, whom he was about to abandon for a frag.

Orion turned and looked at Starflux and Flutter. Flutter wore a thunderous frown, arms crossed over her chest and optics narrowed. The second Orion looked at her, pleading with her to forgive him, she looked away with a sniff, glaring at the wall instead. Clearly she’d intended to be the one going somewhere more private with Megatronus. Orion tried Starflux and found her expression far more forgiving. “Starflux, I…”

Starflux laughed and shook her head, making a  _ shoo  _ gesture with her servo. “Go on,” she said. “We’ll find you tomorrow, yeah?”

Orion beamed, gratitude burning through his field. “Thank you,” he said, hugging her quickly. “Have fun tonight.”

“Yeah, you too,” Starflux said with a wink. She nudged Flutter with an elbow joint, a resounding clang echoing as Flutter cursed and turned back to them. “Come on. Wipe the sour face off. Your mech Wreckage just walked in!”

Flutter perked up at once, squeaking and peering towards the door. “Oh Primes, I have to go meet him like  _ right now _ !” she said. She waved cheerfully to Orion and Megatronus, giving them both a thumbs up. “Bye Orion! Bye Megatronus!”

Then she was gone, and Starflux followed after her with a laugh and a final wave.

Megatronus and Orion were now completely alone.

Orion turned, spark beating hard against his armored chest. Megatronus was leaning against a column, smirking, optics hooded as he lazily explored Orion’s whole frame. He didn’t trouble himself to hide his blatant admiration now that he was certain of his conquest. Orion felt a tiny, momentary flicker of uncertainty. Did he  _ want  _ to be a gladiator’s conquest? Yes, Megatronus was brilliant and clever and incredibly well-spoken, and yes, he was hot as the blazing Pits, but…

Megatronus’ engines hummed, a low, crooning, seductive note, and Orion forgot every last objection he could possibly have had as heat pooled behind his array, a needy throb building and building in the dampening mesh of his valve. 

“Well, well,” Megatronus purred. “It would seem that I get you all to myself the rest of the evening. What an  _ interesting  _ turn of events.” His optics glinted, and Orion caught a flash of fangs he could just imagine nibbling at his intake cables when he grinned. “However shall we occupy our time, Orion Pax?”

Orion blushed, pretending innocence. “Mmm… philosophical debates, perhaps?” he suggested, folding his hands behind his back. He approached Megatronus, deliberately measuring his pace and adding a sway to his steps as he walked. Megatronus’ gaze snapped to the swing of his hips, vents hitching and a soft  _ hiss  _ sounding from somewhere within his internals. “Start a revolution, time permitting?”

“In good time.” In a flash, Megatronus had caught Orion around the waist, pulling him very,  _ very  _ close to his big frame. “I have a few thoughts on what we could do,” he rumbled. “The first one starts here - ” Here he tapped Orion’s lips with one clawed finger. “And the last one ends here.” He ran that same sharp claw all the way down Orion’s front, slowly: tracing his intake, the glass of his windows, the inward curve of the metal of his abdominal plating, and down, down until -

“Where?” Orion said, too fast, too breathless, struggling to keep his panel closed.

“Gladiators’ quarters aren’t far,” Megatronus murmured. “Come with me?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, a thousand times yes - ”

Megatronus took hold of Orion’s hand and pulled, tugging him through the crowd in much the same fashion that Flutter had pulled him to the table only a short while ago; and within a few moments, they had burst out in the quiet night, laughing and clutching at each other’s frames with overeager digits as they rushed their way to Megatronus’ quarters.

* * *

They didn’t  _ quite  _ make it there before things began in earnest.

Orion was typically a more… conservative mech. He liked to remain very private, keeping mostly to himself and exercising what some considered  _ frigid restraint  _ when it came to the berth. He had even proudly told his friends that he never, ever fragged on the first date, no exceptions. It wasn’t good form, in his opinion; interface was for more serious relationships, and self-service for merely relieving charge. He hardly needed another mech popping his panels if all he needed was to get off. He could do that just as effectively - sometimes  _ more  _ effectively - himself. If he took someone to berth with him, it needed to be someone he cared for, someone he trusted. Someone who made him burn in both body and soul.

It only occurred to him after Megatronus was already inside him that he’d broken this rule so thoroughly he could never use it as a standard again.

He wasn’t certain how he’d wound up with his thighs clenched tight around Megatronus’ hips in the lift down to the gladiators’ quarters, but he knew it was entirely his own fault it had happened like this. Granted, it was Megatronus who had slammed him against the lift’s back wall, pinning him in place with a fearsome kiss; but it was Orion who had proceeded to climb Megatronus like a slagging tree, pulling himself up by Megatronus’ pauldrons and wrapping his legs around Megatronus’ frame. It was Orion who had caught Megatronus’ right servo and dragged it between his legs, guiding him to his overheated panel - Orion who had drawn back that same panel so Megatronus could touch him  _ properly,  _ earning a pleased growl from the gladiator when his digits touched Orion’s slick, throbbing node.

Orion had made a happy rumble when Megatronus transformed his own panel aside, exposing a delicious, thick spike that Orion couldn’t possibly wait to get his servos on. How was Orion meant to resist mounting that glorious, pretty monster? It was the stuff of his darkest fantasies, bigger than any spike he’d ever taken, gleaming with red biolights and silver metal and painted with vicious purple lines that emphasized every last bump and ridge. By the time Orion took hold of it to guide it inside him, he was dripping pearly lubricant everywhere, calipers fluttering desperately as they clenched down on nothing.

And now - oh, Primus, now. Megatronus was buried so deeply inside him that all he could see were stars, all he could feel were all those glorious ridges spreading him wide and lighting every damnable sensor in his soft mesh. He gasped out Megatronus’ name as the gladiator drove himself home into the wetness of Orion’s valve: Megatronus’ hand braced against the lift wall while the other held Orion steady on the spike he was so effectively speared upon, Orion’s hands clutching the emergency bar above his head for dear life.

“ _ Ah - ! _ ” Orion cried, valve fluttering around that glorious spike. He had never been so full before, so stretched, so purely, perfectly  _ horny. _ “Oh, Megatronus - please -  _ oh -  _ !”

“Please,  _ what,  _ little archivist?” Megatronus purred. He was in the midst of lavishing Orion’s jaw with open-mouthed kisses, fangs scoring the metal with teasing teeth-marks. “What do you need?”

Orion shuddered, almost crushing the emergency bar in his grip. “I want - harder - you - please -!”

Megatronus grinned, moving to press a kiss to Orion’s audial. “You are just full of surprises, aren’t you?” he said, vocals hitching. “But who could deny you anything, Orion Pax? Least of all this…”

He threw all the power of his massive frame into the next thrusts, driving Orion up and up. Orion’s optics fritzed out for a moment as charge crackled all over him. His frame was denting and he couldn’t care less He felt as if he was being split, torn in two by pleasure and by fullness, and by the Pit he wanted more, he wanted  _ more  _ -

“Your field is so lovely,” said Megatronus, his vents coming in hot gusts. “So expressive! I can read everything you feel and think.”

Orion blushed, even as his vocalizer hiccuped and nothing but cries of ecstasy escaped his lips. “I don’t mean to -  _ hh -  _ I can -  _ hn! -  _ can stop if y-you want?”

“Don’t you dare,” Megatronus growled. “I  _ love _ this. No, no, sweet one; no shame,” he crooned when Orion tried to pull back. “Your field is a  _ gift.  _ Feeling every last thing you feel... knowing exactly what spots light every sensor in your gorgeous frame… no, I think I shall be  _ quite  _ angry if you take this away from me.” 

Orion choked on a shout, spinal strut tightening as charge began to ravage him. Megatronus’ engines revved, hard, a shiver running through his struts as Orion quaked against him, armor rattling violently. “Oh,  _ Orion -  _ you’re about to overload, aren’t you? I can feel it just there, building at your spinal strut -  _ hah -  _ that ripple of charge in your field…  _ Primus - ! _ ”

Orion arched against the wall, clutching at the bar above his head. “Yes,  _ yes _ , I’m almost - almost -  _ ah -!”  _

He hit his climax with a whine of static, his entire frame jolting as his valve pulsed around the spike inside of him. Megatronus snarled, triumphant and fearsome, keeping up that same punishing pace all through Orion’s overload as Orion sobbed his name. He’d never overloaded so intensely before. His focus narrowed to the eruption of charge all over him: lubricant spilling from his valve as Megatronus’ spike hit his ceiling node again and again and  _ again _ , until it almost hurt, until Orion’s overload had dragged out so long he was dizzy and shaking and barely aware of himself.

When it ended, he almost collapsed, struggling to cling to Megatronus in its wake.

“Primus,” he whispered, snuggling close to Megatronus’ frame.

Megatronus, still braced against the wall, laughed breathlessly. “I prefer Megatronus, but if you wish to deem me your savior and creator, well, who am I to object?”

Orion laughed too, smiling against Megatronus’ intake. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Says the little archivist who begged me to frag him in the lifts,” Megatronus replied, grinning. He moved his hips, slowly, and Orion whined as his circuits lit up again, pleasure cascading through every line. “Do you wish to continue?”

Orion could think of literally nothing he would prefer more than allowing Megatronus to frag him senseless again. “Yes -!” he said, already writhing against Megatronus’ frame. The gladiator’s spike was still pressurized, solid, throbbing with charge and stretching Orion wide. Orion took a moment to spread his legs a little further, peering down between their frames to where they were joined. His valve, puffy and blue and glimmering with the energon swelling within the folds, was stretched to its fullest capacity around that thick silver spike, Orion’s node already pulsing with fresh arousal. Orion whimpered and rocked his hips, watching himself shallowly sliding up and down Megatronus’ spike.

“ _ Ghh-!”  _ said Megatronus, staring: claws violently puncturing the wall behind Orion’s helm. “By the  _ Pit,  _ Orion…! If you are as insatiable as you seem, I may never let you leave my sight again.” 

Megatronus pressed his faceplate to Orion’s cheek with a possessive sound, rocking into him slowly, sweetly. When he pulled back, Orion watched as his gaze snapped back down between their frames, entranced as he watched himself slide inside Orion, then out again. “Have you any notion of how exquisite you are?” Megatronus breathed. His spike throbbed once more, and Orion shuddered, drawing an echoing shiver from his lover.

“No you,” Orion mumbled, so drunk off pleasure he barely knew what he was saying. “You, you’re incredible, all of you, oh Primus I need - I need - I  _ need _ you - !”

“You have me, my archivist,” Megatronus replied hoarsely. “You had me from the instant I beheld you.” 

Oh, that was lovely, that was  _ sweet -  _ that was a heated promise, a ripple of something deeper than lust and brighter than intellect beneath those words. Orion tried to reply, to convey how much, how deeply he returned the sentiment - but then Megatronus was moving again, slow and fierce and hitting every sensor cluster in the wet mesh of Orion’s valve until Orion could only cry out his name, holding on while Megatronus fragged him senseless.

Megatronus finally spent himself right as the lift slowed to a crawl. His field burst over Orion’s, so full of awe and ecstasy and heat that Orion couldn’t help but tip over with him. Orion was drunk on it, drunk on Megatronus, drunk on their interfacing.  _ I want this. I want this again. I want this forever. Primus, let this be the start of some kind of forever. _

They finished right as the lift reached its designated floor, doors opening with a soft chime.

“Good timing,” Orion whispered when coherence had returned to him, kissing Megatronus’ cheek. Megatronus’ frame rumbled with laughter as he gently eased his spike from Orion’s valve, snapping Orion’s panels closed with loving digits before any of his transfluid could leak. “Are... can we still…”

“Oh, you won’t be going  anywhere tonight, Orion Pax,” Megatronus replied, leering into Orion’s faceplate. “I’m carrying you to my quarters, where I’m going to frag you into a senseless, strutless, sobbing little mess - and then, when you’re too exhausted to move, we can talk about your adorable ideas about violence and pacifism and the government until you fall asleep. Yes?”

“Yes,” Orion agreed immediately, nuzzling Megatronus’ face. He frowned. “And my ideas are perfectly reasonable and acceptable and deserve to be taken ser- ”

Megatronus shut him up with a kiss: hard but burning with affection, swallowing whatever Orion had intended to say. “Mm?” Megatronus murmured, pulling back. “What were you saying, sweet one?”

“Mm it doesn’t matter anymore,” Orion gasped, leaning back in. “Kiss me again,  _ please… _ ”

* * *

This was how Orion found himself pinned beneath the weighted arm of an enormous gladiator in an unfamiliar berth: curled up against Megatronus’ chest, listening to the soft, contented rumble of his engines in the wake of their fragging.

Orion counted on his fingers.  _ Four. Four overloads.  _ He still couldn’t quite believe how effectively Megatronus had gotten him off. He’d cum again and again and again without any effort, sobbing Megatronus’ name on broken vents as his body clenched and squeezed and spent itself. That he’d achieved the same effect on the gladiator was a point of personal pride, successfully dragging the bigger mech into five overloads by the end.

Now they lay cuddled together, curved around each other, too sleepy to talk much but too happy to be together to recharge.

“Megatronus?” Orion said, vocalizer crackling. “Do you… do you really think violence is the answer?”

“Mm. I think it is what we are forced to choose, yes. Don’t you?”

“Why would we be forced to choose warfare over negotiation?” Orion replied. He lifted his helm, frowning, only to be forcibly pulled back against the gladiator’s chest.

“Spoken like a privileged mech who has never lived in the Pits,” Megatronus replied. “Can one negotiate with the barrel of a laser gun? Can one speak reason to the business end of a cannon or a whip? Or perhaps you would talk sense into the chip imbedded in my internals that tells the Guild that owns me where I am and what I am doing and who I am with at every mili-klik of every passing day - the chip that they will trigger to explode if I step even one pede out of line. Is that your intent, Orion Pax? Hmm?”

Orion swallowed a hard, painful lump in his intake, propping himself up on his elbow to stroke Megatronus’ faceplate with tender digits. “Forgive me,” he said softly. “You are right, of course: my fortunes have been fairer than yours by half, and where I am stationed, I need not fear as you do. You are not wrong to accuse me of naivete in this regard.”

Megatronus’ optics shot open, surprise burning through his field. “You admit your ignorance on this topic?”

Orion cast him a quizzical glance. “Of course. I cannot and do not know everything. It is the duty of debate to consider all perspectives - both one’s own and that of one’s opponent.”

Megatronus smiled to himself, turning to kiss Orion’s palm. “My opponents are given more to violence than to intellectual debate.” He arched a brow, pursing his dermas with a rueful expression. “Come to think of it, one might say the same of my lovers.”

Orion laughed at that, bright and smiling. “I’m sorry to disappoint.”

“Oh, you are no disappointment to me, my Orion.” The words were rumbled on a thrum of pleased engines. “Come, sweet. You are farther from me than I would like.”

Orion happily curled back against Megatronus’ frame. He was big and warm and surprisingly tender when he enfolded Orion in his arms again, pressing his olfactory to Orion’s helm. Orion would happily have stayed like this for days, were it an option. He had never before felt so safe, so protected.

“Pity,” said Megatronus absently.

“Hmm?” Orion hummed, kissing the place above Megatronus’ spark. “What is?”

Megatronus was silent for a long moment. A cold, anxious prickle ran through Orion’s lines, tearing that sense of comfort from him, and he looked up, brows drawn in concern. He caught a glimpse of bitterness in the gladiator’s bright blue optics and frowned, stroking Megatronus’ chest with worried fingers. “What’s wrong?”

Megatronus huffed and lowered his gaze. “Ah. It matters not. I was being unusually sentimental.”

Orion tilted his head, refusing to return to his previous position.

Megatronus sighed, offering a regretful smile. “I was thinking it is a pity I shall only have you for a night. That’s all.”

Orion stiffened.  _ One night. One night. All those pretty things he said and did, and all of it meant… what? Nothing?  _ “O-oh,” Orion stuttered, trying to swallow the bright blossom of pain that struck his spark. “I… see. I didn’t realize that was your intention.”

Megatronus looked up, a quizzical expression on his faceplate. “I presumed it was  _ your  _ intention,” he said. “Is that not what you sought, Orion Pax? One night with a gladiator, then home to Iacon to pretend it never happened?”

“No!” Orion cried, aghast. “No, Primus, I - no. I didn't even come to Kaon with the intent to interface at all.”

“Ah.” Megatronus looked - less hurt, at least, but still doubtful. “Well, it matters not. I know your expectations. You would not wish to be seen as  _ attached  _ to a low-caste mech.”

“My affections are not so fragile as you seem to believe them to be,” Orion replied hotly. “Do you think when I say I believe you my equal that I do not mean it?”

Megatronus growled, working his jaw as anger simmered in his field. “I presume you are much the same as any other mech of your caste who would play at revolution. You  _ say  _ the right things, but whether you mean them is questionable at best.”

Orion’s indignation bled away into sparkbreak as he realized this was surely not the first time Megatronus had taken a mech claiming to love his speeches to berth. No doubt such mechs had offered sweet words to him, promises they had not kept. He had come to assume his encounters with the upper castes were impermanent: mindless pleasure and the fierce joy of verbal sparring fading into silence and ignored comms in the aftermath. 

Orion reached for Megatronus’ hand and looped his digits through the gladiator’s, clinging tightly. “I did not agree to come to your berth out of some misguided thrill-seeking urge,” he said softly. “I - ” He hesitated. The depth of regard he already held for Megatronus was so great, so stupidly, painfully great, that he feared to overwhelm the other mech; but neither could he lie to him. Not for this. “I am aware of how brief our acquaintance is,” he said. “But I came with you tonight because your very spark set mine aflame. Everything you say, everything you  _ do -  _ you are extraordinary. Not for your caste, not for your work: for who you are at your center. The way your mind works, the way you speak, the quickness of your wit - you are  _ brilliant _ in every sense of the word.” He looked up, too earnest, too hopeful, his field heavy with the weight of his admiration. “Megatronus, you are so much  _ more  _ than any other mech I have ever met. There is a…  _ muchness  _ about you, like the power of a supernova lives inside you - like your armor would crack open and spill genius in pure light from the seams of your plates if it could. How could I see that and not want to be near it - not for a moment, but for dozens of moments, as many as I can have; as many as you deem fit to grant me?”

Megatronus looked at him with an unimaginably soft expression. Moments before, Orion would never have guessed he could wear such a face, with his big harsh frame and the strong lines of his faceplate. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Orion blushed, closing his optics in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t place that sort of pressure on - ”

“Hush.” Megatronus tilted Orion’s chin, pressing a tender kiss to his forehelm. “Whether you should or should not is immaterial. You  _ are.  _ I adore that in you, however brief our acquaintance. Everything you say, everything you do - it is all you, all honest and true and genuine. I wonder if you have any notion how rare and precious that is.”

Orion shivered, pressing himself close to Megatronus’ frame. “I do not know how else to be.”

“I know,” Megatronus murmured. “I can see that. I admire it very much.” He brushed his thumb over Orion’s dermas, cocking his helm. “Do you believe in fate, Orion?”

Orion pressed a kiss to the digit, nuzzling into his touch. “I do now.”

Megatronus purred and pulled Orion down to him, pressing slow, soft kisses to his lips: the kind of kisses that took the embers of desire and stoked them gently, sweetly into a burning flame, licking at his insides, spreading from his core. He clung to the seams of Megatronus’ armor, opening his mouth without prompting to deepen the kiss. He ached to be one with his lover once more, deeper and sweeter and more gratifying this time than ever it had been before.

Megatronus broke the kiss, opening his optics to hold Orion’s gaze. “Promise me you won’t forget this come the dawn,” he said, vocals a low, fearful rasp. “Promise me you mean what you say.”

Orion took Megatronus’ servo and laid it over his own pulsing spark, never breaking eye contact. “I will never, for one instant, forget this night, nor you, nor my promise to you,” he said. “And I will be sparkbroken if I do not see you at the Hall of Records the next moment you can get away.”

Megatronus smiled and pulled Orion into kiss once more, pressing him back into the berth.


End file.
